


Little Notes

by torchwood221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torchwood221b/pseuds/torchwood221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>John's POV</p>
    </blockquote>





	Little Notes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyLittleCornerOfSherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Importance of Torn Papers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/958156) by [MyLittleCornerOfSherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/pseuds/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock). 



> John's POV

Ever since he came back Sherlock has gotten into the habit of leaving me notes. Sometimes they’re simple reminders to pick up milk or other things we need from the grocery store, other times they’re suggestions for takeaway I can pick up on my way home, still others are notes telling how much he loves me and appreciates having me in his life. It’s a sweet gesture and one that at first glance seems very un-Sherlock but they never fail to make me smile whenever I find one in my pocket.

I keep them, every last one, even the ones about remembering the milk. They’re all in a box in the nightstand on my side of the bed. I’m sure he knows they’re there but I don’t mind, when you love someone like Sherlock Holmes you get used to the fact that he knows just about everything.

Recently I’ve started leaving him little notes of my own. Usually I stick them on his microscope or laptop or place them in his violin case. My most recent note is stuck to the bag of index fingers he’s keeping in the fridge; it simply reads “I love you. JW.” In fact that’s what most of my notes say.

Sherlock doesn’t keep them long, a few days at most and then they disappear never to be seen or heard from again. It doesn’t bother me that he doesn’t keep them. We’ve always had different ideas about sentiment, I prefer mine to be more tangible than his. Knowing Sherlock, the contents of my notes are tucked safely away in his mind palace in a room he keeps solely for me.

When we’re working on a case, like we are right now, our notes to each other appear with less frequency. I’m confident that he’ll have this one solved in the next few days, we’re heading to a club tonight to rundown some leads. I’ve never liked clubs myself, they make me feel claustrophobic - all those people, the loud music and the near darkness save for the occasional black light. They’re just not my thing and they aren’t Sherlock’s either but he’ll do almost anything for a case.

The club is relatively empty when we arrive and we spot the people we need to talk to fairly quickly but of course one of them tries to run. After a brief chase to the club’s upper level we corner him and he draws a knife slashing through the fabric of Sherlock’s suit jacket. I immediately go into soldier mode and grab the man’s wrist and twist it until the knife falls from his hand. The bouncer who comes to assist me calls the police to send someone to arrest him and I go straight from soldier mode to doctor mode to make sure Sherlock is ok. I strip him of his jacket and don’t even register if the knife indeed slashed through his shirt before starting to take it off.

That’s when I see it.

There in the black light of the club tattooed on his chest in my handwriting are the contents of the notes I’ve written him.

“Love you. JW” “I miss you when you’re in your mind palace. JW” “I love you. JW” “You look really good in that shirt. JW” “I love you. JW” “I’d be lost without you too. JW” “Love you. JW” “I like that new song you’ve been composing. JW” “You’re amazing. JW” “Those deductions yesterday were brilliant. JW” “I’m so lucky to have you in my life. JW” “I love you. JW” “I missed you today. JW” “You make me so happy. JW” “I love you. JW”

My mind registers that he’s uninjured a mere millisecond before I’m throwing my arms around him and kissing him as fiercely as I did the day he came back from the dead.

Apparently he likes tangible sentiment after all.


End file.
